


The Glass Paradigm - [1/1]

by nahemaraxe (zephyrina)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1303504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyrina/pseuds/nahemaraxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a repost.</p></blockquote>





	The Glass Paradigm - [1/1]

**The Glass Paradigm**  
(5,499) // (NC-17)  
Bob Bryar/Ray Toro  
When Ray chose to quit his career as Loa, he never thought he'd end up playing in a band with three mortals and the former God of Thunder.  
The guys aren't mine, it never happened.  
Written for [](http://crowgirl13.livejournal.com/profile)[**crowgirl13**](http://crowgirl13.livejournal.com/) , who won my auction at [](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/profile)[**help_haiti**](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/) and asked me for deities in a band. Inspiration comes from [canon](http://www.mychemicalromance.com/blog/ray/planting-seeds-victory-part-i) and [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/we_are_cities/224417.html#cutid1) at [](http://we-are-cities.livejournal.com/profile)[**we_are_cities**](http://we-are-cities.livejournal.com/). ♥ to [](http://framianne.livejournal.com/profile)[**framianne**](http://framianne.livejournal.com/) for her help and patience and [](http://tempore.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://tempore.livejournal.com/)**tempore** for her beta job. Thank you so much.  
Loosely based on American Gods. Crack and religious themes.

 

*

“You sure about this, Rada Legba?”

“Yes.”

“No chance to make you change your mind? Fuck me, you’re one of the main Loa, without you--”

“Without me you’ll be doing just fine, Samdi. I don’t want to argue and it isn’t anybody’s fault anyway. I gave all I could give, now I’m stepping back. That’s it.”

Samdi doesn’t answer, he just pushes back his top hat and leans against the bench, studying him for a while. Rada’s sure that he’s doing his staring trick again, no matter if he knows quite well – if they both know – that it won’t work. He isn’t talking to one of the lesser spirits of his Guédé or to a mortal, after all. Whatever, thinks Rada, waving a hand at him in a dismissive gesture, at least Samdi’s just earned brownie points for trying.

“Just tell me when you’re done with your psychopomp shit, okay?”

“You--”

“I made my decision. Now if you want to swear eternal hate to my name and all that, be my guest,” says Rada, shrugging. “If not, share a cigar with me and keep quiet. The crossroad’s beautiful tonight. Look.”

Samdi follows Rada’s gesture with his eyes. The place seems quiet if one doesn’t know what to look for – or where or at what angle – but to them both it boils up with raw energy, especially where reality overlaps the supernatural world. To Rada it’s like watching a dam full to the brink on both sides – and knowing that sometimes, he’s been the one who threw rocks in. He smiles a little.

“It hasn’t changed at all, see? Neither world will crumble to dust just because I’m not watching over doorways anymore.”

“Fuck you, Rada,” comments Samdi, but there’s no real animosity in his voice. Maybe he’s in one of his good days or maybe he just gets what Rada’s been telling him. He tilts his head, and the moonlight shines over his skull for a moment, making the bones look whiter. “So what’s your new name then? How do I call you now that you’re diminished and without any fucking power?”

Rada grins. “My new name? It’s not that different from my old one.”

*

“And then she said, man, you’ve gotta show-- Ray? You still here?”

“Yeah, sure. I spaced out a moment, sorry.”

Gabriel grins at him and then proceeds to go on with his tale, telling the people of the pub about the big-titted woman (and apparently with nympho tendencies, too) he saved first and then hooked up with when he was in the US. Every time he brings that story up, he adds a detail or changes the scenario, depending on the audience he’s speaking to. As for Ray, well-- he’s been hearing that thing since day one, back when Gabriel was still called Ghede Nibo, so it’s nothing new to him. He stays put just for the show, playing the virtual partner who gives Gabriel time to come up with a new twist or to add emphasis to some points of his tale. By now Ray intervenes by default, saying ‘wow, really?’ and ‘yeah’ in the right moments, but without really listening – especially now.

The thing is, Ray’s just felt ( _‘Robert, he picked Robert-- Bob this time’_ ) Bob’s presence, the very instant Bob set foot on the island.

It’s been like the pounding of a drum ( _‘a hammer’_ ) in Ray’s brain, too sudden and unexpected – or not really, no. Ray knew that Bob was coming, didn’t he? He’s been restless since the moment he chose to quit, waking up at night for no apparent reason (but every time it felt like someone was moving in bed next to him and god, if that fucker didn’t have the habit of kicking him in the shins whenever he turned), moving things around in his place (making space for a guest, mostly), fixing stuff (because he still remembers what happened last time he left Bob in a room with a leaking sink). Ray’s been waiting, with the only blanket he owns folded on the bed and the fridge full with cans of that sugary shit Bob likes so much.

Of course, he could have just asked and spared himself the trouble. On that high level of existence, where Ray felt Bob’s presence like deafening thunder a few moments ago, they’re always in touch with each other. You don’t fuck someone for a thousand years without getting involved in so many ways it becomes impossible to keep track of them, and some parts of Ray are constantly paying attention to him. If Ray concentrated just a little, he’d be able to tell where Bob is right now, what brand of jeans he’s wearing and how many drags he took of that cigarette he’s smoking. If Ray doesn’t, it’s just because the side of him that learned about mortal ways is ridiculously fond of surprises, of that feeling of not knowing what would happen next. He doesn’t have it as much as mortals do, sure, just up to a certain level, but it’s enough to him. It’s making him twitch and fidget on his bar stool, eager to find out new details and be reminded of old ones.

“Hey, Ray?”

Ray looks up and gets a flash of Gabriel’s shit-eating grin. The people he was entertaining with his tales left while Ray was still lost in his thoughts; now it’s just Gabriel, a couple of old _guajiros_ snoring on the counter and himself. He raises an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“Just that you look like a guy who’s about to come in his pants, let me tell you,” says Gabriel, raising his glass in silent toast. “Someone’s coming over? Because that thunder’s been pretty hard to miss. Talk about being subtle, you two.”

“None of your business. And stop making sexual jokes anyway, they get old after a while.”

“That was a metaphor, dude. A fine one, I daresay, and here’s a piece of wisdom for you, too: don’t get your knickers in a twist. Not yet, at least. Save that for your guy.”

Ray sighs. “Do you ever – I mean, just for a moment in your life – think about something _else_? Because seriously, you’ve got issues. Big ones.”

“Man, you don’t even know,” replies Gabriel, suggestive, and Ray winces, realizing what he’s just served him on a silver plate.

“Cut it out.”

“But you were thinking about your Nordic babe, weren’t you? You take up that face, a mix between _life’s all sunshine and roses, oh my god_ and _I’m so gonna fuck him through the damn wall,_ it’s so priceless. I should take a picture of that. Anyway, speaking of fucking: I heard the tale about him pulling the whole skirt and pigtails act that one time he lost his hammer, so I always wondered, are you two into cross-dressing?”

“Keep wondering, G,” says Ray, getting on his feet. It isn’t embarrassing per se – he’s a god, he doesn’t get embarrassed that easily – it’s just that he doesn’t want to discuss his sexual life with other people. “None your business. And don’t try to mind-peek in my room tonight either or I’ll kick your ass.”

“No need to, you two will get loud enough to let everyone know what’s happening in real time – and in great detail.”

Ray rolls his eyes. “Sure thing. See you around.”

“See you! Say hi to your boyfriend and happy fucking!”

Ignoring the obscene gesture Gabriel makes in his direction, Ray grabs his cane (he doesn’t really need it, but it’s been with him for too long to let it go that easily) and heads toward the door. It’ll soon be mid-afternoon, he thinks lazily as he lets his feet bring him to the beach.

*

“Wow. If this is you idea of flying under the radar, then I say you have to think it further,” is the very first thing Ray says when he sees him. Even if Bob didn’t give out that pulsing feeling – the one that gets under Ray’s skin whenever they’re close and makes him think about having a second heartbeat – it’d be downright impossible to miss him, stat. _Mortals_ are casting him weird glances, for fuck’s sake, and that says it all. Smiling a little, Ray shakes his head.

“You never change, don’t you?”

“Why, what’s wrong this time? I left the wolfskins home and look--” he opens his arms “--no hammer in sight either.”

“As if I couldn’t see it, hung to your belt and all,” says Ray. It’s hard to keep a straight face now, though, since Bob looks mildly cross.

“Well, I made the effort, okay?”

“And that’s very sensible of you, but you’re still wearing a hoodie on the beach.”

“And sunglasses, too.”

“Baby steps,” concedes Ray, magnanimous. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, same,” says Bob and pats the low fence he’s sitting on. “Join me. I want to see the sunset and bitch about how all this fucking sand is getting in my shoes before going home.”

Chuckling, Ray sits next to him. He’s wearing moccasins, and he takes them off with his toes, enjoying how their legs touch briefly with every movement. He missed that. Even if they can touch each other on other levels of existence, doing it with their bodies feels different; not better, just different. He has to wonder why they haven’t met in person during the last fifty years. Ray thinks that Bob meant to give him space. Back then, Ray was already questioning his own place in the Voodoo pantheon and wondering if he shouldn’t have already taken the high road, too. Now that the decision is made, Bob’s got back to him. That’s nice. He might be surprisingly thoughtful at times.

“You okay?” asks Bob in that moment, and Ray nods.

“Totally.”

“Good.”

*

Later that night, after they had supper on the porch and a glass of rum each, after Bob slipped up behind Ray and touched – really touched, using fingertips and palms this time – his skin, they’re in bed together, sharing soft laughter and kisses in the dim light of the room.

In Ray’s opinion, that’s the best moment of a sexual act, the beginning. Sure, the actual thing is great, and so is the aftermath, but given the ability to choose, he will always pick this, the tingling feeling he gets as they discard their clothes or the way his dick gets harder whenever it brushes against Bob’s thigh. It isn’t a quick thing; they both like rough sex every once in a while – and Ray still remembers some glorious fucks they had back in the days, when Bob (who had a different name but the same features, the same voice, the same _essence_ ) got back from the battlefield, all bloodied and high from the fight – and they’re going to indulge that later, maybe, but now--

Now they’re both there, bodies and minds, and they’re taking all the time they need.

“Been too long,” Ray says before spreading Bob’s legs with a knee and settling between them. “What the fuck were we thinking?”

“You were. I was waiting for you to make up your mind.”

“Yeah. Lube’s--”

“--in the first drawer. Unlike you, I hate surprises.”

Rolling his eyes, Ray reaches out and Bob drops it into his palm. Spreading it on his dick feels good, especially because he’s staring down at him while he does so. Bob stares back, stroking himself, too, but what really builds it up for Ray is seeing him like that, all that bare skin on display, the heavy eyelids and his breath that’s gradually speeding up. Also the feeling of having a second heartbeat that Ray gets when Bob’s around is increasing. He’s long learned to dull it out, reducing it to a distant buzz in the back of his mind, but when they’re having sex it becomes too loud to ignore. Not that Ray cares, it’s so _Bob_ that he can’t imagine how it’d feel to not have it. Ray himself is giving out something like that, too, and as he looks at Bob in a questioning way, the bottle of lube still in his hand, it occurs to him that he never asked Bob about it. He should, out of curiosity – later.

“Don’t bother. Move,” is saying Bob in that moment. “Need no fingers.”

“Cause you’re a tough god,” replies Ray before lining up and pushing into him. He bends forward as he does so, wanting to kiss and be kissed, while Bob wraps an arm around his shoulders to keep him down. Once he’s fully in, with Bob’s muscles clenching around him and Bob’s dick pressing against his belly, Ray keeps still for a couple of moments, watching how a pink shade’s spreading on Bob’s cheeks, the freckles on the tip of his nose and his parted lips.

“Hey. Wanna move or shall I get off myself?”

“Asshole,” says Ray, amused, but then he complies, starting to move against him. Bodies tend to convey a peculiar kind of energy, one that adds up to the mental bond they already share, resulting in them feeling every movement, every touch twice. Right now they’re running their hands on each other’s skin, almost mapping their bodies that way. Ray is looking for sensitive spots, brushing past them with his fingertips while he’s working on that place behind Bob’s ear with his tongue. Bob is following cords and muscles instead, drawn as always by any source of power around him.

When Bob hooks a leg around his waist at last, pushing him further in, Ray slides a hand down and wraps it around Bob’s dick. Their connection tightens, becoming stronger as they both go on, even if their movements are still controlled, calm and almost languid. It’ll all speed up in a little while, because Bob can only push himself so much before losing it, but Ray doesn’t mind. That’s Bob’s nature and his primal energy is what attracted Ray on the first place, thousand years ago. Back then it felt different, it was more violent and reckless, while now it’s a bit tamer – he learned some patience after he quit – but the core of it is still there, and Ray can _feelseetastesmelltouch_ it.

“You _are_ ,” Ray whispers, thrusting deeper, and that’s the greatest thing he could ever tell him. Acknowledging a god’s existence, no matter if the god has retired or not, means acknowledging their power, showing respect, love and devotion; after all those years, Ray has no issues in telling him so anymore. He’s past petty shit when it comes of their relationship, and stroking Bob’s ego is rewarding for him too.

“I am,” is what Bob answers before raising his hips. They’re moving together, bodies and minds acting in synch, and the heartbeat is deafening Ray by now. He’s feeling it with every fiber of his being, and knowing that he’s been the one who brought it to that point is fucking rewarding. He’s the cause of this, of the way Bob’s coming undone before him and as it always happens, it’s the last push, the one that sends him off.

Bob lasts a couple of thrusts more, just because he likes to brag about the stamina of the Nordic gods and holds himself off until the very last moment, but then he gives up, too, and comes in Ray’s hand, moaning something in his old language. If Ray were a little more present, he’d catch it, since he didn’t forget what Bob taught him when they were younger. Right now he doesn’t bother, though. He feels warm and heavy, waiting for the heartbeat feeling to go down, back to its usual buzz.

“You’re fucking loud,” he says when he pulls out and rolls to his side.

“Not that you’ve been exactly quiet either, dude. My head was about to burst.”

“That much?”

“Like drums in the forest.” Bob rubs a hand on his face. Sweat is covering his brow and he’s still out of breath. “You’re low and heavy and… wild? I don’t know, I can’t describe it better. I like it, though.”

“That’s good.”

Ray reaches out and kisses him. “I’ll have a shower now. Red Bull’s in the fridge and look around if you need shit.”

“The only thing I need now is sleeping for days. And maybe to have another round later on. I want to fuck you.”

“I said it before, I’m gonna say it again: you never change,” laughs Ray, pulling at a strand of Bob’s hair before getting up.

*

Months pass in an easy way, sort of: Bob’s moved in with him, saying that the Caribbean looks like a nice place to be for a change, even if it’s too sunny for his liking, and Ray’s silently grateful for that. Even if he isn’t in charge of anything anymore, this is still the place he belongs, those people are still the people he had cared about for years. Letting go is hard. Deep inside, Ray’s sure that he’ll never be able to detach himself from all that, not fully. Fuck, look at Bob: he’s still tied to the lands that were his, and he’s been one of the first of his pantheon to quit.

Ray doesn’t regret his decision, though. It was long overdue, and now he feels like he understands what Bob meant back then, when he told him he was going to give up. Back then Ray just dismissed what Bob was saying as an outcome of his short temper, an _I’m fed up with all this shit and I’m not gonna take it anymore_ kind of thing. Those days Ray hadn’t been part of an established religion yet. Those weren’t his times, he felt it in his bones, and so he waited for them to change and to get ripe for him. He wasn’t exactly impatient to be served by mortals; looking forward, yes, but patience never failed him, and maybe that’s what led him to think that he’d never quit once his cult settled.

Right now, though, Ray has a clearer vision of things. His career as a Loa taught him that being the one that people look up to may (and will) wear you out. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, but if most of them have retired, it’s just because of that. Nothing is eternal, not even divinities or spirits and fuck, he’s more than okay with it.

While Ray comes to terms with all that, Bob sorts of hovers in the back, playing the boyfriend role and keeping an eye on him, something that Ray finds oddly nice. After all those years, Bob’s nature still takes the upper hand; he just has to fill up the protective role, no matter if he knows that Ray’s able to look after himself just as much as Bob does. There had been a time when that bothered Ray, true, but now he just means to take full advantage of it. He isn’t used in having Bob around that much, not physically and hey, he likes it, even if Bob refuses to wear lighter clothes and chugs on Red Bull almost constantly, claiming that it reminds him of mead.

“I never liked mead anyway,” Ray is saying now, while he pours dog food into a plastic bowl. He has dozen of them, and twice a day he puts them out, for strays. He didn’t know if dogs would keep on coming after he quit, but since there hasn’t been any change in the dog flux around his house so far, he guesses that they’re still sacred to him. Either that or they couldn’t care less about Ray’s status as divinity. “Come on, fuckface, help me with the bowls.”

“A sec. And hey, you never tasted mead. How can you tell?”

“I smelled it. That’s enough for me.”

“Uh-huh,” says Bob, getting on his feet. For some reason he decided to go through all the crap that Ray kept (or make it ‘tried to hide’) in the cellar, so these days he’s still in a full swing, bringing cardboard boxes upstairs and rummaging through them all the time. That’s why he’s wearing a black and red shirt under his hoodie and a straw hat today: he must have found the ritual clothes box. Ray sighs.

“Is the hat to avoid sunburns?” he asks, grabbing two bowls and heading outside. “Because I’m saying it’s doesn’t work.”

“I’m a god, Ray. I don’t get sunburned.”

“Sure. Your peeling nose must be a fragment of my imagination then.”

“I’ll fragment your ass,” replies Bob, dead serious, and Ray can’t help but laugh.

They bring all the bowls out, putting them on the porch, and while Bob gets inside to fill the water ones (Ray’s pretty organized. Every dog has two bowls with their name written on, and the color of the bowls match), Ray shoves his hands in his pockets and waits. His strays are coming, and he smiles when the first one shows up. It’s a girl, a newbie to Ray’s feeding program since this is the fourth or fifth time she comes to his house. She isn’t shy at all, though, and she barks at him, tail wagging and all before starting to eat.

“Hey lady, here’s some water,” says Bob when he sees her. He crouches down, and Ray sees him smiling as he watches her finish her food. “The others?”

“They’re coming.”

“Awesome. It’s just--”

“What?” asks Ray, tapping the heel of his shoe on the porch floor. It’s a beautiful day, he thinks absentmindedly, and maybe he could talk Bob into a walk on the beach. They could go there and then stop by Mama Zouzou’s shop and get Bob something for that sunburn. It’s spreading on his cheeks now, but one of ZouZou’s herbal goo will make it better. He’s wondering whether or not he should add booze at Gabriel’s pub to the offer – Bob’s glee at the prospect of getting shitfaced is quite hilarious, and Gabriel managed to find him _‘the perfect ale, it tastes just like it did back then, Ray, for real’_ – and that’s why he doesn’t really pay attention to what Bob says next.

“Your dogs feeding. I mean, awesome thing, but isn’t it a bit discriminatory to cats?”

“Oh?” asks Ray, still daydreaming.

“Cats have feelings, too. You’re just breaking a million feline hearts by choosing to feed dogs only. I thought you were open minded.”

“Ezili feeds them. She-- oh.” Ray blinks and reaches out to whack Bob on the head. “You fucking with me?”

“It depends. You mean physically or figuratively?”

Ray rolls his eyes.

*

“Aren’t you done with those boxes yet? I put them in the cellar for a reason, you know.”

“I guess,” is all Bob replies – after a whole minute, that’s it. He’s still rummaging in the ritual stuff boxes, and Ray is afraid to find out why; Ray gets that Bob is probably bored and just looking for a way to pass the time, but clearing out the cellar isn’t the most exciting activity ever. At least he hasn’t yet tried to fix shit around, something Ray’s deeply grateful for. That never bodes well – and another thing that doesn’t bode well is the way Bob’s handling that snake sculpture right now.

“Hey.” Ray snatches it away. “That isn’t your Midgard snake, let go.”

“I know that,” says Bob, shrugging. “I just don’t like it.”

“Yeah. Don’t think about that, though.”

Ray puts the sculpture on a shelf of his bookcase, pushing it in the back, then he sits on the floor next to Bob. They must be quite a sight, two retired gods sitting in the middle of a living room and surrounded with various crap Ray collected through all his life.

“How’s your sunburn anyway?”

“Uh. Fine. Doesn’t itch anymore.”

“Told you. Mama Zouzou kicks ass.”

She’s also a fucking hot woman, even in her old age, and Ray might have indulged in that a few times in the past years. Taking mortals (or giantess or giants or other gods, even) as lovers has always been a common practice among gods, and it isn’t frowned upon (usually. Say, from what Ray heard, Hera still doesn’t take it well at all). If Zouzou was still interested in having sex with multiple partners, Ray would have brought Bob to her place one evening, that’s for sure. As things are now, though, she only flirted with them a bit when they walked into her shop and then gave Bob a herbal remedy for his peeling skin, assuring him it’d do wonders. A thick layer of it is currently spread on Bob’s nose and cheeks. He looks-- well, halfway between pretty funny and cute, Ray can’t tell, and so he just reaches out to spread it a little further. Bob didn’t cover all the burning.

“Let it be, I’m all right--” starts protesting Bob, before his face takes up a fascinated expression. “Now look at this. This is some cool shit.”

Bob’s holding up an old drum, one that – in all truth – Ray didn’t even recall the existence. He knows he has a whole set stored down there, in the cellar, but this one really escapes his mind. He frowns, hitting the taut skin with a knuckle, and the drum gives out a deep sound.

“Must have been an offer of sorts, I guess. All I can think about are bonfires, and that’s not helping,” he says. “Maybe during the--”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter now. I like it. Listen,” says Bob, and this time he’s the one hitting the drum with his fingers. He does it for a while, varying the speed and the rhythm. “Fucking great.”

“Taking a not so wild guess, it reminds you of thunder?”

“Maybe, yeah. Like, a thunderstorm approaching? If I could play it fast enough?”

“You sure could. It’s--” Ray blinks. “Now wait, your folks had drums back then, and don’t tell me it never occurred to you before.”

“Well, we sure had, but it wasn’t consistent. I mean, we were busy with other things, okay? _I_ was.”

“Conquering and pillaging villages, yeah. Must have been some demanding work,” teases Ray, and that earns him a punch in the ribs. He laughs. “Okay, okay, sorry. But I still can’t believe you never connected the dots, you mighty god of thunder.”

Bob shrugs. “I just never thought about trying it myself. Never mind. You’re the voodoo Loa here, _Rada Legba_ , it’s a big part of your religion. Show.”

 

_Epilogue_

 

“Remind me again, how did we get into this exactly?”

“Stop complaining, Ray. You like it just as much as I do.” Bob shrugs and fires him the paper dart he’s just folded up. “You’re just bummed out because it’s been an idea of mine.”

“No, I’m not saying it’s shit. Rather, it’s cool. I just never thought I’d spend my old age playing in a rock band – with mortals. It’s-- weird?”

“But the good kind of weird.”

“Yeah, it is,” agrees Ray. They’re in the hotel room they’re sharing that night, after a two days long trip on the tour bus, and sleeping in a bed is a welcome change for once. To the others, they’re just regular guys in a regular relationship, nothing to write home about, and they’re trying to keep it as it is. Flying under the radar is especially important now, since the band’s gaining popularity and neither of them feels like telling the print that they’re a Norse god and a Voodoo Loa, both retired.

Not that they never slipped. Brian’s been knowing it for a long time (and Ray shouldn’t have summoned Samdi in a hotel room, okay, okay), he just decided to keep quiet after Ray and Bob talked to him, explaining things and assuring him that they weren’t going to annihilate anyone ( _‘Not even by accident. And no black magic rites or lightning coming off drumsticks either. Gods or not, I’m still your manager,’_ said Brian in the end, and the nerve he showed that day still amuses Ray). Maybe Gerard suspects something, too – that summoning really went downhill – but he never asked anything. He didn’t start treating them different anyway, not so far, so Ray considers that a win. Loa or not, he’s come to care about them all.

“Hey man,” says Bob in that moment, snapping his fingers in front of Ray’s face. “Come back here.”

“Oh, sorry. What is it?”

“Just that you’re fucking slow.”

Shaking his head, Bob gets up from the bed and goes to the mini fridge. He rummages through cans for a short while, obviously looking for something, then he turns around and tosses something at Ray. It’s a rum miniature.

“I’ve got you cigars, and our hotel faces a crossroad. So?”

“ _Oh._ ” Ray looks at the miniature in his hand and blinks. “Oh yeah, sure, but I didn’t think-- I mean, you know.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m doing the thinking part for you. You’ll pay me back next time we tour Scandinavia,” says Bob and maybe he’s smiling a little when he nods to the door. “Get that lazy ass moving, come on.”

They sneak out of their room unnoticed, and Bob taps a drum line on Mjöllnir during the whole elevator ride. He keeps it in its small form when he’s around people, while the belt and the gloves are hidden in his trolley; Ray often thinks that if Bob found a way to disguise both his goats and chariot, he’d bring them along, too. Ray is less attached to the symbols that depicted him in voodoo, at least compared to Bob, but still, the light weight of the miniature in his pocket feels good. He’s wondering where he could find a cane, following Bob outside the building, when Brian shows up, catching him – and Bob, the way he shoves his hand in the pocket where he keeps his hammer gives it away – by surprise.

“I said no black magic.”

“Holy shit,” growls Bob. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You want to get smitten by mistake?”

“Calm down, you,” says Ray, squeezing Bob’s shoulder. “But Schechter, seriously. Give a man a warning next time.”

“I though you guys were omniscient?”

“Well, in a way, yes, but not in the way you think. It’s complicated. And voodoo doesn’t equal black magic, I told you already,” says Ray and casts Brian a dirty look. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Smoking,” answers Brian, automatically reaching for the pack to let Bob mooch one. “Lighter’s in,” he tells him before turning to Ray again. “Smoking and waiting for you two to sneak out.”

“Wait, you knew?” asks Bob, and Brian’s eyebrow goes up. _Duh._

“If the place and the crossroad weren’t enough of a red sign, then I don’t know what else could. Just, after last time I wanted to make sure that you didn’t fuck shit up again. You almost got caught and I had to make stuff up real quick before people though you were summoning Satan on our hotel floor.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” says Ray. “We’re going to pour rum on the crossroad, that’s all. It’s about me, not about Samdi.”

“True. He’ll keep that trick for the next gig, Schechter. I mean, think about it. Priceless,” snickers Bob, and Brian flips him the bird.

“Fuck you, Norse god. One day you’re gonna spill your identities on the internet by accident and I’ll have to play damage control again, I know that. I’m just trying to get ready for it. Anyway, do whatever you have to do, I’m going to bed. And-- be careful.”

Ray nods. “Don’t worry.”

After Brian’s got inside, Ray nudges Bob in the ribs. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah. But hey, would you be able to summon demons? For real? Like, open the seven gates of hell and make zombies walk on earth and all that?”

“ _Bob._ ”

“Okay, sorry. Was fucking with you.”

“Because you’re an asshole,” answers Ray philosophically.

*

Once the veve has been traced in the dust, the rum poured and the cigars put on the ground, they step aside and watch, standing side by side in the middle of the crossroad. Ray isn’t sure that Bob sees the two worlds overlapping just like he does, but he’s going to ask him later, when they’re back to their room. Right now he’s just watching how the doorway remains open, as it always used to happened in his presence. It’s a good thing, it still feels familiar and warm to him, but it’s gone.

“You miss it?” asks Bob quietly, touching Ray’s hand with his fingers.

“No, not really. It’s a part of me, yes, but I’m alright with who I am right now.”

“Then I say it’s all good.”

And fuck yes, thinks Ray, it is.

*

A/n: Legba [#1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Papa_Legba) \- [#2](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rada_loa) (I obviously mixed both versions)  
Loa [#1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loa)  
Samdi [#1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baron_Samedi)  
Ghede Nibo [#1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghede_Nibo)  
Thor [#1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thor)  
Mjöllnir [#1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mj%C3%B6llnir)  
Veve [#1](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Veve)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost.


End file.
